


Foul & Fair

by Satine86



Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Female Zoisite, POV First Person, Redemption, Reincarnation, Silver Millennium, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You once said I was beautiful, do you still think that?" I can't hold back a smirk when her eyes turn cold. "I think you're a monster." </p><p>Rated T for SilMil violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foul & Fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurianAmi (Sandy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandy/gifts).



> Not even sure what this is anymore. Was going to be a second submission for Ficathon, on the shitennou forums, but it needed so much work. Uber thanks to covenmouse and mrcrybrilliance for beta help.
> 
> For anyone wondering about Do svidaniya, that is in the works just a lot of personal stuff going on and I need to research, so it's a bit on the back burner (but it will get done!)
> 
> Name is taken from a line in Macbeth, which I obviously don't own. Nor do I own Sailor Moon.

The land surrounding the palace is scarred, unrecognizable. Once it had been an enchanted place, a beautiful zenith of peace. Now bodies litter the ground amidst crumbling debris smeared with the remains of blood and entrails.

So many lives lost. So many more to go. 

I stand with my brothers before the broken steps leading to the palace doors. Nephrite to my left, his hair matted with blood and sweat. His arm hangs uselessly at his side; the left squeezes the hilt of his sword. Beyond him is Jadeite, so covered in filth it takes me a moment to recognize him. Twin stolen daggers clutched in his hands do not help--stolen from the guard, no doubt, but blood pouring from his closed right eye marks a price in blood. 

Kunzite is to my right, his proud stance abandoned in exhaustion. But his gaze is cold, determined. It flickers over the collapsing fortress before us, and I know that look; the grim set of his mouth, his eyes narrowed as he looks for weaknesses to make it topple completely. 

A rustle of fabric and flash of blue on the steps above us announce her. Paler than even Serenity’s virginal white gown, eyes pinched at the corners, shoulders slumping inward making her appear even smaller than she truly is. Mercury’s gait is slow, deliberate, as she avoids putting weight on her right ankle. Broken and nearly beaten, she will be easy pickings.

“Mine,” I whisper before the others move. My voice is raw, throat sore from the shouts and curses of battle, but the stillness carries it perfectly to my brother’s ears…to _her_ ears. 

I yank my sword from where it had been impaled in the ground, and my every muscle protests. Fatigue makes it difficult to work past the angry welts on my face and torso from Mars’ fire shower, but I grip the blade in both hands and limp toward Mercury. The world is immersed in thick, rolling fog. A mistake. The chill cools the burns on my skin, pleasant. I keep moving forward, up the steps and to the right--she hasn’t gone far. 

“I can hear you breathing, Sprite. Quick, erratic…it’s giving me very naughty ideas.” Stopping, I listen for a moment and whirl around, sword raised, and block the blow that had been aiming toward my head. 

I carry the blow around, the clang echoing in the frozen air, and pin her weapon against the pillar next to us. Now she is close, and I can see the fear and shock in her eyes. They’re so wide and so clear I can see myself reflected back; the once long ponytail is gone, singed off, scalp showing in patches. Blisters cover half my face, marring the once smooth skin. 

“You once said I was beautiful; do you still think that?” I can’t hold back a smirk when her eyes turn hard. 

“I think you’re a monster.”

“Ah, so then my face matches my actions?” Forcing my body into action I strike out with my sword, forcing her to retreat. I keep advancing until she is backed into another pillar and I pin her there, leaving no space for escape. She looks up at me with cold fury, something I wasn’t sure she was even capable of. I’m almost proud. 

“Why are you doing this? What do you want from us?” Her voice shakes, but her eyes are fierce. I lean in close, making sure my lips softly brush hers when I speak, “I want redemption.” When I pull back her nostrils flare, and she spits in my face. 

“Redemption? Even if I could grant you that, you don’t deserve it,” she hisses. 

“You’re right, I don‘t.” I step away from her, casting the sword aside, and spread my arms wide. “Will you at least grant me death?”

She looks me in the eye, and I know she is trying to determine the best course of the action. Weighing the pros and cons to a hundred different scenarios, she’s always so well prepared… so thorough. The fact that we’re here like this, that we caught them unawares, must be killing her. 

“Please, Sprite?” There’s a long pause, my words hanging in the air, then her eyes soften. I don’t know if my words have caused something to break, or if she finally understands, but either way she moves toward me. 

She glides now, her feet barely making a sound against the flagstones, and places one hand against my chest. Leaning up on her toes she presses a kiss against my lips. Warmth, passionate and fiery, flares inside me at the contact, then in a flash it is replaced with cold. It permeates my body, every muscle, every tendon and nerve is freezing. My lungs struggle for air as they contract painfully. 

Sinking to my knees I look up at her, happy for the first time in so long. I try to tell her thank you, but my lips won’t form the words, and I have no breath to speak. I fall forward, unable to keep myself upright any longer. I imagine the stones beneath my cheek must be chilled, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel much of anything. 

Just as my world is going dark, just as I know release from this cruel madness is mine, I see Jadeite behind her and the flash of his dagger before it slices her throat. I see the shock, the horror, written on her face as her mouth opens in a silent scream. I can only watch as blood spills from the gash, staining her uniform crimson. 

I can only watch and then there is darkness and then there is nothing.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

There is nothing more boring than waiting for a Prima Donna to get their ass on stage for dress rehearsal. Considering _I_ am the leading lady, it doesn’t really say much about the leading man. But of course he must look _perfect_ at all times... arrogant git.

The lights are boiling hot in this damned getup, I swear this dress gets heavier each show. Where are we today, anyway? Oh, right, Japan. Tokyo to be exact. Great, lovely, maybe I’ll get some sushi later…. oh my god where is he!? It’s just a dress rehearsal, get your arse out here already. The lady is waiting for the Scottish Lord. 

“Where is he? The blasted fool! We’ll never get this run through done on time.” Fantastic, there goes Grant raging around the pit in full irate director glory. At least now we might actually get his royal highness out here.

“We need Stephen on stage!”

“Stephen to the stage!” 

It’s a bit like relay beacons, the cries echoing throughout the bowels of the empty theatre. Pompous ass thinks he’s the most amazing thing since Valentino, what I wouldn’t give for some of the superstitions to wear off on him… 

“We’re waiting for Macbeth on stage!”

The entire cast and production crew stop dead in their tracks. Most are wide eyed, glancing around as if they expect the real Lady Macbeth to come wafting through the walls, and curse them all to hell. 

“WHO SAID THAT WORD IN MY THEATRE!” Grant bellows, marching backstage to wring the neck of the poor sod. However, all this noise finally heralds the arrival of Stephen. Miracle of miracles.

“Has his royal highness decided to finally grace us with his presence? _What_ an honour!” I slap my hands to my cheeks in mocking delight.

“Be quiet, Zandra; I’m not in the mood for you.” Stephen crosses his arms indignantly, nose in the air. 

“Funny, I’m not in the mood for you either!” 

“Would you two please stop?” comes the long suffering sigh from our assistant director. Jonathan is soft spoken and mousy with an overly large belly, but he is patient and twice the director Grant will ever be… it’s just a shame that neither he nor Grant realizes that. 

“He started it.” I point toward Stephen, affecting the most haughty, affronted look I can. It’s not necessarily true at this particular moment, but it’s true in our overall acquaintance. He had been rude and conceited when I first met him, and mistook me for some fawning little fan rather than a serious thespian. The wanker still doesn’t take me seriously. 

“Zandra started it!” Stephen cries. 

“Yes, well. I’m finishing it,” Jonathan moans. “This is the last show before we head back to London, then the pair of you won’t have to see each other again!”

“One can only hope…” Stephen mutters, running a hand through his dark hair. 

“Finally! My leads on stage!” Grant pops out from backstage, looking unusually chipper. Never a good sign. 

“Why don’t we just get this done with, then we can go relax before the show starts, hm?” He hops down into the front row and takes his seat.

“Sir…. aren’t you….?” His assistant starts to say.

“Am I what?” He turns toward her with a bored look.

“Well someone said the _word_ ,” she mumbles. 

“It’s fine. It’s all fine. Let’s just finish this run through, shall we?” He looks back toward us, expectant. 

“I believe that’s your cue, milord.” I give Stephen the most ostentatious, overly exaggerated bow… for some reason this seems to annoy him. What a strange man. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The land rushing past the windows is a blur of lights and people, all stretched and streaking together like bleeding watercolors on a canvas. The paramedics hovering over me are talking so quickly in Japanese I can’t even pretend to understand what they’re saying. Maybe that’s a good thing?

They’re pumping something into my arm; it’s nice, whatever it is. I let my eyes drift close as I try to ignore the hot pain spreading across my face… though it is getting duller. Again, that’s nice stuff in the IV.

I can see the stage in my mind’s eye, just as we were finishing a scene. There’d been a shout backstage, the sound of wires snapping and a sizzling pop right as a light came crashing down. Sparks flew out in every direction, most of them landing on my dress. I’d tried to rip it off, but couldn’t, and the thing lit up like dry kindling on a campfire. 

It’s funny, but I don’t remember much pain at the time. I know I screamed--screamed bloody murder--but it wasn’t from pain so much as shock. I think I hurt more now with the IV dripping into my arm than I did when the fire was raging 

The ambulance pulls to a stop, and I’m wheeled out of it toward the pristine white of the hospital. There are more people now, all chattering away so quickly I catch every fourth or fifth word, and I still don’t understand any of them. 

The world is foggy, my head unclear. I can barely focus on the faces around me, they all blur together into a single entity hovering over me. The lights are bright and blinding, stinging my eyes as things around me beep and blip and hum like insects. 

Then there’s a young man with a mop of thick, dark hair and bright blue eyes. I almost feel as if I know him, but he’s gone in an instant, replaced with someone else and my heart skips a beat. The eyes are still blue, so much different. The shape is rounder, a bit wider, the corners downcast…. forever a little sad. The face is gentle, soft, heart shaped and smooth. 

The lights behind her seem to halo her head, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe she is an angel. She smiles then, just a gentle upturning of her cupid bow lips, reassuring and comforting. 

“You’re going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right.” She nods slowly, her slim hand resting on the bar of the gurney. Her voice is silky and quiet, and the tone washes over me like a warm wave. My toes curl. I lift a hand to grip hers, but it’s a chore, and once it’s off the bed I can see it is red and angry and raw. 

“Just rest now,” she says slowly, her smile still gentle. She turns slightly then, and I can see the drip of another IV start flowing faster and faster…. drip, drip, drip. Dripdripdrip. Then I welcome the oblivion of sleep. 

When I wake again I’m not sure if hours or days have past, but the sun is shining outside the window to my left and I can see buildings and snippets of blue sky. The room I’m in is quiet save the constant beep and hum of medical machinery; there are wires and tubes leading from various points on my body to the machines and IVs. There is a dull pain across my face and upper body, but not enough for me to really care. 

The world around me is fuzzy, but I’m not sure if that’s from pain meds or sleep or what. It is, however, kind of pleasant, like floating in a haze of fluffy white clouds. The idea grows stronger in my muffled mind when the same woman from before comes in. She’s even more beautiful than I first thought.

“You’re awake, good.” She smiles and picks up my chart. “Do you remember what happened, Miss Clarke?” Her voice has such a sweet quality to it, soft and melodious. Her words hold a slight accent, but her English is perfect.

“Zandra.” My voice is weak and rough, little more than a croak, but I know she hears me over the noise of the room because her head shoots up, eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry?” she mumbles.

“Call me Zandra.”

“Very well, do you remember what happened… Zandra?”

“Mmm. An idiot said Macbeth and a stage light fell on me. My dress burned. What‘s your name?”

“More or less,” she nodded, making a note on my chart before replacing it at the foot of the bed. “I am Doctor Mizuno,” she said, clipping her pen on the front of her lab coat. She places her hands in her pockets and slowly moves to the side of my bed. “How do you feel?”

“Do you have a first name? Or should I call you doctor?”

“Doctor is more appropriate, but my first name is Ami.”

“Pretty.”

“Thank you. How do you feel?”

“A little stoned.” I can’t help but grin at her. She really is pretty. 

She frowns slightly, the action marring her brow. I do not like to see her frown. She reaches forward and checks the IV drip, then leans forward and shines a light in my eyes. Up close she nearly takes my breath away, all smooth skin and big blue eyes. 

“Are you in much pain?”

“Nah.”

“Perhaps I should turn down the morphine drip if you’re not feeling well?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It dulls the pain.” A sudden thought occurs to me. “Am I scarred?”

“You will have some scarring, yes--your burns were very severe. Once you’re healed more we will take a skin graph to replace what was damaged. It won’t be bad.”

“My face?” I lift a hand toward it, but she stops me. Her hand is cool and soft, gentle and reassuring. Despite myself I lace my fingers with hers. I hate to admit that I’m vain, but I’m an actor, I can’t be a scarred mess. 

“It will be fine,” she says. “The worst of the burns were on your arm and chest. You’ll be beautiful again.” She pulls back slowly, withdrawing her hand from mine, a teasing grin playing at the corner of her mouth. 

I find it hard to keep my eyes open, sleep seems like such a wonderful idea at the moment. I fight the sleep, but my body will not obey my orders. I blink several times, watching as she moves away from the bed with a murmured ‘rest’. Settling back into the pillows, ignoring the discomfort this causes me, I finally let my eyes fall completely and whisper out a few words before she goes.

“Thank you, Sprite.”


End file.
